


Slashed Dreams

by cortchuzska



Series: The Sands of Time [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Myrcella, and her screwed up families.</em><br/>Who is she, really?<br/>She is not a Baratheon.<br/>She cannot claim the Lannisters' name.<br/>She will never be a Martell.<br/>Myrcella Sand. A bastard raised in Dorne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Baratheon Princess

Princess Myrcella, on her way to Dorne, knew for sure two things only: she was a Baratheon, and was going to be a Martell. The process that would turn her into such, though, as everything else of Dorne, was still hazy.

“Dorne is a strange, dangerous land. Remember who you are. A Baratheon Princess, and a lioness of the Rock.” Septa Eglantine instructs her.

“Prince Trystane Martell will be your lawful husband, and it's your duty to conform to Dornish customs and obey him.” She pounds into her head.

How is she supposed to comply to _both_?

So she asks uncle Tyrion for some books on Martell House near history she shall read while sailing to Dorne.

“There is s most rueful lack of King's Landing Sack accounts fit for a little girl, sweetling, I fear.”

“I am not a little girl, uncle. I am a Baratheon Princess, and a lioness of the Rock.” Myrcella proudly insists.

“I assume the Martells will tell you; and their own version will be quite different from both the Lannisters' and the Baratheons' one you would hear in King's Landing.”

Her uncle adds. “You are an inquisitive little girl, Myrcella. I'll miss you.”

Myrcella asks him what 'inquisitive' means.

During the journey, when her Septa bids her goodnight, and her maid helps her undressing for the night, she asks again about the Martells.

“Their family is not properly what we would call _regular_ , sweetling. You should never mention the Lady Mellario. Sleep well.” She kisses her brow, and closes Myrcella's cabin door.

Beyond the planks, she hears Septa Eglantine telling her maid “Poor child; what a pit of snakes she has been dispatched to! The Dornish are infamous, and the Martells are even worse. Prince Doran hasn’t been living with his wife for years, Princess Arianne is well past twenty, not even married and far from maid, as for Prince Oberyn, the _Red Viper,_ his very name is a scandal. He has...” Septa Eglantine lowers her voice, and Myrcella misses her words, but not her shocked tone.

She then questions Ser Arys about Dorne; and he does not begrudge his knowledge. His gloomy stories are dreadful deeds of scorpions, snake pits, poisoned spears and black treason. He comforts her, Princess Myrcella has nothing to fear, till she has a member of the Kingsguard to protect her, but she would better not trust the Dornish.

She finds his accounts not comforting at all.

On her way to Dorne, Myrcella Baratheon feels a tad worried.


	2. Some Martell Princes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Myrcella and Trystane, writing letters to their far away mothers._

Prince Trystane promised he would teach her how to play cyvasse; but when he enters her rooms, Myrcella is not ready yet; she is writing a letter to her mother, and begs excuses.

“Please go on, Princess. If you don't mind...” Trystane sets aside some papers, jauntily perches on a corner of her desk, and smiles at her. “At least, we share that much: a far away mother. When I was little, I badly missed her.”

Trystane is a boy about Joffrey's age, and she doesn't like boys about Joffrey's age. They are quite nasty. Actually, she is not well acquainted with much boys of that age, apart from Joff himself.

Trystane is tall and handsome as her brother, but in a different way: he has black shiny playful eyes, black shiny straight hair, dark olive skin, and thin dark lips. His shining smile is what she likes best.

Trystane is different: he is _kind_.

Myrcella wonders why his mother has left the Prince. She has heard the Baratheons' fury and the Lannisters' roars in her parents angry, almost daily arguments. Yet, her mother answered Ser Jaime, urging her to leave for Casterly Rock with the children, that she would not forfeit their rights, and she was the Queen and would stay in King's Landing, no matter how much she loathed her husband.

She sums up that with dark tales about Dornishmen, and darker still about Oberyn Martell, and even if the Martell Prince involved was not Doran, they are anyway brothers, so she can’t help bluntly asking. “Why did your mother leave your father? Is he such a _monster_?”

Maybe he turned into a huge snake - is not his brother a Viper? - so the Martells tucked him away at the Water Gardens, where he eats children. Why would there be so many of them? Why has she not yet met him?

Trystane stares aghast. Septa Eglantine warned her, but Myrcella has never been good at staying demurely silent.

“My father is the meekest man ever - even too much so, according to Arianne. When mother went back to Norvos, and I was longing for her, he hugged me, and explained he had to let her go, because he loved her, since mother was unhappy and could not cope with the life of a Prince of Dorne wife. I can remember his very words. ”

The Dornish are touchy-feely.

She does not remember her father hugging her, nor telling her something worth remembering. Mostly, he didn't even care noticing he had a daughter. He is dead now and he will never do.

Trystane smiles at her again.

“You don't have to worry, though: I am a third son, and my sister Arianne will rule after my father, then Quentyn is still before me. Uncle Oberyn says ruling Dorne is a chore.”

Wonder upon wonder. To her mother, being wife to a Lord – a Prince – a King was the highest womanly achievement, not something to be shy of, and she regretted Myrcella had to marry a third son, so far from real power. 'You deserve better than that, my child. It's Tyrion's fault. ' A woman being first in line even if she has brothers is something unheard of; if it were so in Lannisport, mother would be the Lady of the Rock in her own right after grandfather.

“I hope I didn’t bother you much. I always feel a bit lonely, when I write to mother.”

They agree to meet in Trystane’s solar, next time they will write to Queen Cersei and Lady Mellario.

Princess Myrcella muses. The Martells are different.

 


	3. House Martell, House Baratheon, House Lannister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Myrcella and Trystane, searching for the perfect uncle._

Myrcella joins Trystane in his solar, but she has to know more about the Martells, and decides it's time to ask him about his family before they begin writing their letters.

He talks about his uncle Oberyn. He has taught him how to ride, and Oberyn is the best horseman _ever_ ; he is the Red Viper, and the coolest uncle, and the finest man in Dorne, and the greatest tourney champion as well and... No I can't tell you _that_ , Trystane chuckles.

Trystane talks. And talks and talks and talks. He slips to Dornish. Myrcella doesn’t understand, but she likes his voice, anyway, and Trystane, to be sure, loves listening to himself. By the way, she must needs learn Dornish.

Meanwhile, she ponders about _her_ perfect uncle. For Trystane, it's easy: his is only uncle being Prince Oberyn – his mother's brothers live in Norvos, and he has barely met them. She has four to choose from.

Uncle Renly has always been nice to her, and brought her little presents – a ribbon, a trinket, a song – but there is really not much else to say about him.

Uncle Stannis: he is such a stern man, there is nothing – nothing _interesting_ worth mentioning about him. He has no personal life to speak of.

Ser Jaime. He is a member of the Kingsguard, and that's pretty cool. He is called Lion of the Rock – and other more fearsome names her mother doesn't allow her to use. He won more tourneys than everyone else. Oberyn might be the champion of Dorne, but no doubt her uncle is the Seven Kingdoms champion. Yet there is almost nothing _personal_ she can tell about him; the Kingsguard are the realm best knights and don't care about little girls, even when they are Princesses. Ser Jaime cares less than the others, for he is the best knight in the Kingsguard.

She only remembers, on her name day, he hauled her up, saying 'You are even more beautiful than Cersei your age', gave her a ring who could fit only a child, and made her promise 'Never tell your mother'.

A tiny copper band, with something scratched inside she could not detect; but it was the token the Lion of the Rock himself was sharing some huge secret with her, and that's why she loved it, more than flashier uncle Renly’s trifles. Of course the Lannisters official gifts to their little Princess are always the grandest, but they can’t count really, since she barely touch them and they are soon stored away by her maids: they are not really _hers_.

Trystane will not think much of a stupid ring; not more than of uncle Renly's ribbons.

Besides, his uncle has never won a tourney of any worth; she knows, since Joffrey wanted they learn by heart the last ten years most important tournaments winners, as well as the main contenders. It was so boring repeating these lists, and Myrcella found out that she could do only learning the ones Ser Jaime did _not_ win. Still, Trystane can't stop extolling his uncle's combat skills.

Likely, if she had been sent to Highgarden, Myrcella would hear similar boasts about the Knight of Flowers.

The Red Viper is the local tourney hero, she guesses, and Dornish boys will not listen to anyone else's jousting feats.

It's known boys are _that_ stupid.

She will talk about uncle Tyrion. The Imp: he has a cool nickname too, and if Oberyn Martell travelled in far lands beyond the Narrow Sea, uncle Tyrion saw the Wall; he has no maester links, but he reads every book, and answers when she asks him; and if Prince Oberyn formed his own company, her uncle leads the clansmen of the Mountains of the Moon, by far more impressive than any sellsword, and she can tell. To Joffrey, they were too stinky, and Tommen was afraid, but she met them nonetheless. Their stench was mighty, and they were really frightening, but it was the most exciting adventure in her life. She doubts anything Trystane did with his uncle could match. She touched Chella's, daughter of Cheyk, human ears necklace. Tyrion asked her if she thought braver, or kinder, or scarier to make foes shorter an ear rather than a head. She likes her ears where they are, so would rather count Chella among her friends. To top it all, she doesn't know of anyone else having a dwarf uncle. When you're small, it feels good to have a uncle who can always look into your eyes, without stooping or kneeling, someone you can trust and can understand you - even if Myrcella is now quite tall.

They agree that, when Prince Oberyn will be back, she will call her uncle – better still, their uncles could go back from King's Landing together – and then they will settle which one is the best.

Myrcella can allow that Trystane's uncle is pretty cool too, but is sure she will win.

They turn to their letters, and Myrcella finds out he writes in Valyrian, since his mother is Norvoshi. When they will grow up, and marry, they could visit her in Norvos and maybe even settle there – having a scattered family has some pros. Myrcella likes the Free Cities, or at least Braavos, where she stopped before reaching Dorne. She already resolved they will spend their honeymoon there; the city is really stunning, even if she can’t openly state it, for as a Baratheon Princess she is to vouch for King’s Landing.

Myrcella, to show she is not so utterly unaware of Valyiran, offers to sing a barcarole a Braavosi sailor taught her. A lady is to please, right?

Mother told her she had listened Prince Rhaegar himself and his silver harp, and he always sang in Valyrian, because it is liquid and musical, an ancient genteel language apt for a Prince. Princess Myrcella outdoes herself to render the music of trickling waters she heard in Braaovs-spoken Valyrian.

Trystane startles, and chortles. “Do you understand what it really means, Myr?”

“Just some words, actually; sailors have a smattering of every language, and I got from them its general meaning.” She admits, and gives him her common tongue version of the lyrics. “The title is 'Black Pearls at the Moon Pool', and it's quite popular in Braavos. And it's about ladies sporting in their barges at the Moon Pool. Black Pearls are the ladies; there are no real pearls in Braavos and it's known black ones come from the Summer Islands only. Very poetic it must be – for the name alone.”

“Let’s say your translation is _very_ abridged.”

“If we are going to live in Norvos, I guess I’ll have to improve my Valyrian.”

“Indeed. You’d better ask Nymeria: she was born in Old Volantis, and speaks it far better than me. Just don’t ask her first thing to translate this song, you don’t want her to quirk her brows. The Lady Nym is from one of the most ancient Volantene family, and sorts of lofty sometimes. No need to foster her notion the difference between a Westerosi Princess and a fishmonger's daughter is tenuous as best.”

Myrcella looks a bit puzzled; and Trystane laughs.

“No matter what she could say, uncle Oberyn would certainly approve of you.”

Approved by Prince Oberyn. Even if it sounds like a praise, Myrcella is not sure if it’s a good thing. Her Septa lowers his voice in horror, when speaking of him; and certainly would not approve of him.

Her mother often disapproves of her uncle Tyrion, and Septa Eglantine sometimes talks of him in hushed tones.

He is Trystane’s favourite uncle, as Tyrion is hers.

Oberyn-approved, she decides, when told by Trystane Martell, is certainly flattering.

“I'm sure my uncle Tyrion will like you too.”


	4. The Sands

Myrcella can't wander in Sunspear winding alleys, as she would like to. Security reasons, Ser Arys said, and when he says so, Myrcella is to obey, no question asked, thus she has taken to explore Old Palace flat housetops. The view of the city below is a bewildering maze; she found a favourite spot, quite far from her chambers, and got it furnished - it's just a couch and a shade, but it's _hers_. Mother decided for children rooms in Maegor's Holdfast, and Princess Arianne has seen to her apartments in Sunspear; but here she holds sway: 'That's my place; that's where I belong. ' she thinks.

While half slumbering – in Dorne sun is so hot, she doesn't feel like rising, and feigns she is asleep - Myrcella overhears some girlish chattering in the yards she overlooks. She listens intently, to test how much she can understand of Dornish dialect Trystane is teaching her. She is a quick learner, even when not interested, and now she is trying to soak up everything Dornish the best she can.

“How does our little Princess fare, sisters?”

“Isn't she lovely? I wish I had her hair. ”

“Aren't you jealous, Obella? When both of you were little, at the Water Gardens, you always boasted you would wed Trystane the day after you came of age.”

“And he agreed.” They laugh. “The poor lad didn't realize a Martell Prince can't marry a...”

Myrcella doesn't quite get the word. Cousin, maybe? Still, her grandfather and her grandmother were, and wedded nonetheless. But they were from Lannisport, and things are different in Dorne.

“The proper wording, dear sisters, in King's Landing would be 'bastard'.” A lofty voice states.

“I don't care how common tongue has it, Nym.” another voice grunts “He can't possibly marry a _Lannister.”_

“Of course not, Obara. She is Baratheon; it makes such a _huge_ difference. To a Martell, an Usurper is blatantly better than a Kingslayer. ” a soft, innocent voice replies, and giggles. “Our Elia is lucky father didn't marry Ellaria, and she is not a Martell, otherwise she could be with them now, on the way to meet her fiancé.”

“Father would never allow that!” the angry voice replied.

“Prince Doran could even _order_ it.” The haughty voice ponders. “An Elia of Dorne on the Iron Throne is just what they owe us.”

“Refusing obedience to both King's Landing and our uncle would be such an awful mess.” The soft voice thrilled.

“But I would gladly oblige, Tyene. By all accounts, he is so _pretty_...”

The rough voice interrupts her, thick with contempt. “Pretty is he, indeed. Little sister, you are old enough to know better how to choose your men.”

“... And father gave us the tools to get rid of a fool or a brute.” Elia chortles.

A jumble of silvery, harsh, childish, aristocratic, girlish laughters soars up to the sky.

'How _unfair_. ' Having sisters sounds such a fun; but she only has brothers; and Tommen is shy, and Joff... Joffrey is Joffrey. Before falling asleep, Myrcella reminds herself she should ask what 'bastard' means. And 'usurper' too.

\--o--

“What is a bastard, Septa Eglantine?”

Septa Eglantine scowls. “Not anything that a Princess like you wants to know.”

She'd better not ask her about usurper.

“What is a bastard, Princess Arianne? I have heard Trystane should not marry one. Of course not: isn't he to marry me? Besides, what does usurper mean?”

“It's your so-called uncle's interest to get in the way of your birthright. Do you know what birthright is, Myrcella? Her in Dorne we abide by Rhoynar law, and do things differently so it's my right to rule after my father, even if I have brothers, and whoever I wed, my children will have my name; but in King's Landing-”

This is just the beginning of a lengthy dissertation about birthright, Rhoynar law, line of succession, Targaryens conquest. Arianne's favourite subjects, as befitting to a Princess-to-be. Myrcella can see Trystane's point in happily _not_ being one.

“What is a bastard, Trystane? I asked my Septa, and she wouldn't tell; I asked Arianne, and I'm not sure I understood.”

“It's when your father and your mother are not married to each other.”

“Like who? Do you know any?” She asks, curious. Is it that bad, to be a bastard, she wonders.

“My cousins, for instance. Are there no bastards, where you come from?”

She suddenly remembers her mother raging about 'Robert's bastards'. She has never met one, though; a pity since the Sand Snakes are nothing but cool, and as far as she know, her half-brothers and half-sisters must be cool too, and certainly better than Joffrey. _Anyone_ would make a better brother than him.

“That's why their name is Sand; bastards raised in Dorne are named so. Even Nym, who was born in Volantis, and Obara, who joined us from Oldtown, when she was a bit older than you, uncle said. And Ellaria too, his paramour, is a Sand; Lord Uller is her father.”

“I thought they were called Sands because of her... Your sister's children will not take her husband's name, but they will be Martells, won't they?”

Myrcella tries to show off how much she already understands of Dornish customs. Trystane chuckles.

Myrcella doesn't ask what a paramour is. She would rather not look like an ignorant _Northern_ girl before her betrothed; not more than she already did. In Dorne, she knows by now, we do things differently.

\--o--

Trystane has seen to it: after the service celebrating the Mother at Old Palace Sept, Princess Myrcella, Prince Trystane, and the youngest Sand Snakes will meet in Trystane's solar, and since they cannot crown their mothers with flowers, as the day demands, they will write to them. Tyene helped them snatching a wreath from the Mother's altar, and they will add its orange flowers to their letters. Myrcella has never smelt anything so good, and she is looking forward to some days at the Water Gardens, where she was told there are the tangiest citrus groves, and the freshest pools in Dorne. She is a scion of Lann the clever, and has a clever plan. Trystane will plea for her: Ser Arys and Princess Arianne overstate the dangers of going there; now she speaks Dornish, has a veil for her green eyes, and her Septa's brown die bottle. Her enthusiasm for the day, Trystane, his cousins and Dorne in general seeps through her letter, and she feels almost guilty for not missing King's Landing more. Her mother will be proud she settled in so quickly.

Trystane, up to now, has really loathed the day.

“It has always made me feel like an orphan. I was so jealous of you, Snakies; and I couldn't admit it for heaven's sake.”

He turns to her.

“Sorry, Myrcella. I didn't mean to. Your father...”

So they come to speak of King's Landing, and Robert's rebellion. The Dornish version takes a very different view; she gets to know what an usurper is without asking. As for the Sack, Dorea is peculiarly blunt about it. Ser Jaime's forbidden nicknames don't sound that cool any more.

Myrcella is glad she did not mention Trystane her uncle the Kingslayer, also called the Oathbreaker, nor the Kingsguard. In Sunspear, that won't do.


	5. The Lannisters

Then she hears some other words.

“Incest.”

“Brother and sister.”

“Lord Tywin's twins.”

“Who do the Lannisters think they are? Targaryens?”

Mother and Ser Jaime? She had already realized the Lannisters are ill-loved in Sunspear, as everything else from King's Landing, truth be told. She is a Baratheon though, and she is trying to be Dornish. She will ask Trystane; she likes the way he explains her, and he is never tired of her questions. When she says he is a good teacher, he always replies she is a better pupil.

“What incest is, Trystane? They said something about my mother and my uncle.”

Trystane doesn't answer.

Myrcella understands all the same.

She is twice a Lannister.

Though, she will never be one. Her father will never marry her mother, and legit her. Not even if he left the Kingsguard. The Lannisters can marry cousin and cousin, that's true; but not brother and sister.

A Martell Prince will not marry a bastard. Even less, the Kingslayer's legit daughter.

She will never be a Martell either.

\--o--

Myrcella hides away, there is no place for her in Sunspear; nor in King's Landing, nor in Lannisport. She shouldn't exist.

She wishes she had never been given the copper ring with a 'C' and a 'J' roughly scratched. She wishes she lost it before making out its twined letters. She wishes she has not just dropped it in Sunspear's stables.

Obara finds her there sobbing, a rags bundle huddled in a filthy corner. Obara doesn't like children, can't stand little girls crying, and loathes the Lannisters. Still it's Obara who takes her up in her arms, and Myrcella clings to her, and digs her face into her jerkin; its worn leather smell is comforting.

“Stop crying. Tell me who hurt you.” Obara urges her.

Myrcella can't stop.

“If anyone hurt you, I'll kill him. Don't you believe me?”

Myrcella believes her.

“Tell me the name.”

Myrcella can’t name Cersei and Jaime Lannister, the Queen and the Lord Commander, though, for they are her parents. Obara brings her to Arianne’s solar; Ser Arys is there, and at the sight of his white cloak, Myrcella's cries louder, and more desperately than ever.

Obara casts him a lingering hostile glare. “Was it him?” she whispers to Myrcella, who shakes her head and still weeps.


	6. You have to know your name

Who is she, really?

She is not a Baratheon.

She cannot claim the Lannisters' name.

She will never be a Martell.

She has no birthright at all.

Myrcella _Sand_. A bastard raised in Dorne. It sounds good. Yet, she fears she could lose Trystane. How can he still marry her? Dorne Princes don't wed bastards; even when they are only third-liners. Oberyn Martell, Trystane's favoured uncle, a third son himself, never married.

Myrcella tosses away her veil, sets free a cascade of golden ringlets, and inhales desert dry hair.

Everyone praises her beauty, even Princess Arianne says she is clever. In Dorne, we do things differently; and when in Dorne, do as the Dornish do. Why couldn't she, in due time, become Prince Trystane Nymeros Martell's _paramour?_

Now, she has notion of what that could mean. Dorne is a fine place for a smart, clever girl; and she is getting smarter. For instance, she'd wager something – something a Kinsguard should not be involved in - is going on between Princess Arianne and Ser Arys.

By the way, why are they calling her 'Your Grace' now?


End file.
